Look the Part (Page 17)

I wait to hear him climbing the stairs, the third and eighth ones creak.

“Nice office.”

I watch her like a wolf closing in on a lost sheep. After a long day, I’m not in the mood for idle chitchat.

“Dinner was exceptionally good. Your mom is a wonderful cook.”

I nod slowly, my finger tracing my bottom lip—the same finger that rubbed circles on her clit in the alley.

She walks around my office, inspecting shelves filled with boring law books, making the occasional glance in my direction. I strip her without touching her, slowly fucking her with every look.

“Where do these stairs lead?” She grips the railing, blue eyes curious.

I like curious. In fact, I’m pretty damn curious right now too. Easing out of my chair, I walk up behind her. She glances up at me over her shoulder. I cock my head a fraction, twisting my mouth, waiting for her to do exactly what I want her to do without having to say one. Single. Fucking. Word.

Keeping her gaze locked to mine, she takes a cautious step and then another. My feet shadow hers; my body presses to the back of hers, heat radiating between us. As she circles the last part of the spiral staircase, my hands mold to her hips, causing her breath to hitch, halting her forward motion.

Every curve so perfect. My hands slide under her black sheer blouse, fingertips tracing the taut, silky skin and forging on until her bra is shoved up and out of my way.

A moan vibrates her sternum when my hands claim her breasts, kneading and teasing her nipples before pressing the pads of my fingers to her stomach, navigating my way back to her hips and along her outer thighs to the hem of her soft knitted skirt.

She wore this for me, just like she chose tall schoolgirl socks and boots instead of making me rip her hosiery. I ease her skirt up her legs. Tiny staccato breaths fall from her parted lips. It’s the only sound in the room. The pad of my middle finger slides over the wet cotton and lace between her legs before gripping the waist of her panties and easing them down her toned, soft, and oh-so-sexy legs and over her boots before landing on the stair behind me.

My lips start at the skin just above the top of her right boot and ghost their way up the back of her leg.

“Flint …”

“Shhh …” I nip at the skin right below the perfect curve of her ass, warning her to be quiet. She smells like the forbidden and tastes like my newest addiction. My hands work her skirt up her torso and over her head. With a firm yank it releases her arms, taking her shirt with it. I discard them behind me as well.

She turns. I take a step up, putting my face level with her perky tits. Glancing up to meet her drunken gaze and parted lips, I grin, unfastening her bra and tossing it over my shoulder.

Fucking perfect.

Long auburn hair flowing down her back and over the top of her breasts makes her look like a goddess, something an artist would spend months sculpting to perfection. I don’t want to sculpt her. I want to feel her beneath me, writhing, moaning, completely falling into a million tiny pieces of ecstasy.

“Sit,” I command before shrugging off my shirt.

I swear I can hear her heart pounding against her chest. Her teeth scrape along her bottom lip as she grips the metal railing and sits on the edge of the narrow step.

I drop to my knees several steps down from the one she’s sitting on. Our gazes lock for a long moment before I bring my index finger to my lips in a shhh warning. Her hands grip the railing tighter until her knuckles blanch. She bites her lips together when I lean forward and drape her right leg over my left shoulder and her left leg over my right one.

She gasps, stomach muscles contracting, followed by a throaty groan when my tongue makes its first swipe. One of her hands releases the railing and clenches my hair as her pelvis jerks, legs trembling a little more with every move I make. Some depraved part of me has wanted to do this since the first day she arrived for the interview.

When her hand tugs harder at my hair and her hips grind frantically, I pull back, letting my eyes drink up every inch of her flushed skin before dipping my head down. Trapping one nipple between my teeth, I give it a firm tug, flick my tongue over it twice, and pinch the hell out of her other nipple.


My hand covers her mouth as her body jerks, knees clamping my torso. Releasing her nipple, I lift my head and grin, keeping my hand over her mouth as she convulses, eyes rolling back for a few seconds before widening again to meet my gaze.

When I’m confident she can control her volume, I slide my hand from her mouth, hug her body to mine, and carry her the rest of the way up the stairs to my bed.

“How the hell did you make me com—”

I silence her with my mouth on hers while removing my pants and briefs. “I need you to be silent,” I whisper next to her ear before retrieving a condom from the drawer, rolling it on, and pinning her to my bed with my cock buried inside of her.

Harrison is across the hall and my parents are in the room next to mine. We don’t need to talk. I wasn’t really in the mood for it anyway.



I was fine having sex with the same man for my whole life, but circumstances landed me in Flint Hopkins’ bed, and now I feel guilty for feeling so grateful for this opportunity. Thank you, Alex, for literally kicking all of my belongings to the curb. It’s possible I still have some residual anger.

Eyes closed, sated, and relishing the thread count of Flint’s sheets against my naked body, something tickles my leg. I jerk, cracking open my eyes and tipping my chin to my chest.

“What are you—”

“Shhh …” I’ve been hushed a million times in the past hour. Flint pulls my panties up my legs. “You have to go,” he whispers.

Did I black out? I just orgasmed again. When did he get dressed?

I lift my ass like an obedient child letting someone dress me. He grabs my good arm and pulls me to sitting. Bra. Sweater. Skirt. Socks and boots. Flint Hopkins is an expert at dressing people.

He takes my hand and pulls me to the back stairs—where it all began tonight.

“I had three orgasms. That’s—”

“Shhh …” He hushes me again as we circle down the stairs. “And you’re welcome.”

“Smug bastard,” I mumble.

He glances over his shoulder while pulling me to the front door. The smirk on his face confirms my assessment, but it’s replaced with a grimace as one of the stairs squeaks.

Before I can look back to see who’s coming down the main staircase, Flint pulls me into the coat closet and eases the door shut behind us. His head presses against the wall next to the door so he doesn’t have to duck under the bar of hanging coats. He covers my mouth with his hand.

Seriously? It’s a little before midnight and we’re hiding in a coat closet. I think I can deduce on my own that we need to be quiet. I nip at his hand until he pulls it away.

“Shhh …” he whispers.

“I’m being quiet,” I whisper yell.

“Shhh …” Cupping the back of my head, he pulls my face to his chest like he wants to suffocate me into silence.

Jeez he smells good … but, seriously, I need some oxygen. I shove at his chest. “Stop—”

His strong hands palm my head like it’s a basketball he’s ready to pass, and his lips cover mine. I love the slide of his tongue against mine. It’s a drug that makes my legs feel boneless. My hands grip his biceps the way they did earlier when he moved above me—inside me—naked, intense, and so sexy.

He’s distracting me. Silencing me with his mouth. It’s rude. And as soon as I get my fill, I will show him how offended I am. We are grown adults in our thirties. There is no reason for us to hide in this closet.

Flint bites my bottom lip and moves his mouth to my ear. “Stop. Humming.”

Was I humming? Huh, I had no idea.

The door to the closet opens. I fist Flint’s T-shirt and freeze.

“Heard a humming sound.” Gene yawns while scratching his head covered in thick, salt and pepper hair.

“Sorry.” I cringe, biting my lips together.

Gene’s gaze moves up a few inches to Flint. “Forgot to take my pills. I just needed some water.”

“Okay.” I nod, still fisting Flint’s shirt. What’s Flint’s deal? He has nothing to say?

“Okay.” Gene cracks a tiny smile. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

And then … He. Shuts. The. Door.

We stand in the dark, listening to the creaking of one stair and a few seconds later another stair creaks before everything falls silent again.

Flint opens the door and guides me out of the closet with his hand on my lower back. I retrieve my coat from the coat tree and slide my arms into it as we walk out to my car. I can’t stop smiling.

“You just can’t stay quiet,” he grumbles.

I open the car door and turn back to the broad-shouldered man looming above me. “I feel eighteen and so alive right now. Oh my gosh! Your dad caught us in the coat closet.”

His barely detectable grin fades. “Ellen …”

I start to speak, start to make up an excuse for tonight before he has to make up his own excuse for why this can’t go beyond tonight. But I stop myself. I’m not his problem. I’ll have a new office space next week. I don’t regret tonight, so if he does, then he’ll have to man up and say it.